EHC #04 and #29

By Tyler Fieldhouse

EHC #04

Today I am staring out of my window at the sprinkler in my neighbor’s yard.

Sprinklers are like anti-clocks. They mock conventional time-telling.

They say, “Oh, you want to click? Well I can click faster!”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Then they say, “Oh, you only move in one direction? Well I move backwards too!”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I want to be a sprinkler, defying time and doing as I please.

If my wife was around and asked me what I was thinking, I’d say, “Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.” and she’d give me her disappointed face and tell me I didn’t make any sense.

But she’s not around so I leave a note on her side of our bed that says, “I have cancer.”

Below it, I write, “Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.”

When she asks me what it means, I will give her my theory about sprinklers.

EHC #29

My wife and I are at dinner with some friends who are mourning the death of their son. I am overwhelmed by the urge to reveal to my wife that I have always loved her. I feel like I have been waiting forever and that now is the right time. I want to pull her from her chair and kiss her and tell her that I’ve wanted to kiss her since the moment we met.

I wonder if she will understand that every day is a new chance to give her a part of myself, like a sprinkler constantly resetting, but always excited to make the same trip.

I wonder if losing someone is the only way to get them back.

I realize that someone has been asking me to pass them something for a while now. I knock my glass over and spill my drink in an effort to oblige. I did not realize how badly my hand was trembling.

“Sorry,” I say. “About the table cloth.”

I am actually sorry that there is no resetting the glass.

My wife grabs my hand under the table. I twirl her ring one way and then the other.

She will understand.


Tyler Fieldhouse graduated from Flagler College in his hometown of St. Augustine, Florida, in 2013, with a BFA. He’s an aspiring cartoonist, flash fiction enthusiast, and is in several different bands with only himself. He has been self publishing his sad children’s books since he was 21 and will continue to do so until he is penniless, which should not be too far in the future. His website is